Hearts Inn Page 9

  “Heyyy, don’t.” Rosalie pretended to protest as she let Alex guide her toward the door. “I don’t want to pick up a dead mouse.”

  “You won’t even see it. It’s inside the trap,” Alex said, patience waning despite her smile.

  “But what if there’s blood or a little tail sticking out?” Rosalie objected.

  “Oh, my god,” Alex said, rolling her eyes. “Who let you run a hotel?”

  “My dead grandma,” Rosalie retorted.

  Alex’s smile fell. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Rosalie assured her, smiling to indicate she wasn’t offended. “We weren’t close anymore. And she shouldn’t have left me this place. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

  They reached Rosalie’s room, and Rosalie unlocked it. She felt her body tense in anticipation of a loud snap or cries of a mouse in distress. Instead, she heard only the hum of her mini-fridge.

  “How do we know if it’s dead?” Rosalie whispered, as though speaking in full voice would trip the trap.

  Alex crouched by the counter, opening the cabinet. Rosalie took a step back, bringing her hands up to her chin, prepared to suppress a squeal if the mouse flew out. Instead, she saw the trap had fallen onto its side as Alex had said it would.

  Alex gave a satisfied smile. “Señorita Raton ya murió.”

  Rosalie didn’t want to embarrass herself by admitting she didn’t know exactly what Alex had said. She was pretty sure it meant the mouse was dead, but she had no way of being certain.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Just take the trap out to the dumpster,” Alex said with a casual motion of her hand.

  Rosalie cringed. She didn’t want to get any closer to the dead mouse, even if she couldn’t see any blood or mouse guts.

  Alex looked up at Rosalie expectantly, and Rosalie gave a little shake of her head.

  Alex rolled her eyes and picked up the trap box, walking past Rosalie out to the dumpster. Rosalie stood where she was, still tense, until Alex returned, walking to the sink to wash her hands. Alex flicked the excess water off her hands and dried them on the thighs of her jeans.

  “If you hadn’t played the ‘dead grandma’ card, I’d charge you for that.” She cracked a smile, and Rosalie felt some of the tension leave her body. Even though Alex had feigned annoyance, Rosalie realized she’d come back solely to help her with the mouse.

  “Can I get you a beer?” Rosalie offered.

  During a moment of boredom earlier in the day, she’d jogged across the street to get a six-pack in case Alex saved her from any future fainting spells.

  “It’s the least you could do,” Alex said, suppressing a smile.

  Rosalie opened her fridge, taking out a cold beer and opening it for Alex.

  Alex pointed toward the TV. “Any more hot firefighters we can watch?”

  Rosalie felt her pulse quicken with a mixture of shame and excitement. “Not tonight,” she said, glancing at the clock. She had no idea what Alex’s political leanings were, but she took a risk. “The Daily Show will be on soon.”

  “Awesome.” Alex pulled the chair out from where Rosalie had replaced it at the card table, dragging it back to where she’d sat the night before. “The new guy’s not so bad, huh?”

  Rosalie nodded and settled onto her bed, glancing over at Alex every few seconds as she found the remote and tuned the TV to Comedy Central.

  Alex was quiet in a way Rosalie had only felt with her father. With most people, silence was heavy and apologetic, reeking of awkwardness and reluctance to be in the company of others. Rosalie had only been able to stand her father’s quietness because she knew it was none of those things. But since his mother had died, Frank’s quietness had grown painful and heavy, and Rosalie couldn’t stand to be around it. She had frantically searched for conversation to drag him out of despair.

  But Alex’s silence was as familiar as her father’s had once been. Rosalie felt grounded and protected by Alex’s quietness.

  She adjusted the pillows against the headboard, clasping her hands over her stomach, trying not to glance at Alex too many times while they watched. She wanted to remember which things Alex laughed at and which subjects might be safe for future conversations. Alex’s responses were gentle, the tug of a smirk on her cheek, a silent chortle or shaking of her head. Rosalie catalogued each one, wondering if she would ever make Alex laugh in such a way.

  As they said a quick good night, Rosalie asked Alex to come back the next afternoon to finish painting the fence around the pool and install the doorbell she’d suggested the day before.

  ****

  The next morning, Rosalie had a meeting at the hotel with Mrs. Thornbrock, the rep from the hotel management company in Albuquerque. Rosalie put on her best, most optimistic smile, but as the tour of the hotel went on, she felt herself growing more and more flustered. She tried not to fidget with her clothing or jewelry, but she couldn’t help herself. By the time she led Mrs. Thornbrock back to the lobby, she was a nervous wreck.

  “What do you think?” she asked, smiling too wide.

  Mrs. Thornbrock gave a slow nod, studying the carpet of the lobby. “It’s not the type of property we typically take on,” she said. “It’d be one thing if it just needed a few repairs, but the location isn’t ideal, either.” Mrs. Thornbrock straightened up as she continued delivering bad news. “I don’t think my supervisor will go for it.”

  Rosalie slumped, deciding she was done with the charade of cheerful hotel owner. She wasn’t cheerful, and she didn’t want to be a hotel owner. She let out a heavy sigh.

  Mrs. Thornbrock reached forward to comfort Rosalie. “It’s not all bad,” she said. “It seems like you’re at least able to stay afloat. In this town, that’s nothing to sneeze at.”

  “I know,” Rosalie sighed. “I just want to get back to Philadelphia in time to keep my job.”

  Mrs. Thornbrock pursed her lips. “How long did they give you?”

  “Six weeks,” Rosalie said, feeling her anxiety surge. “I’ve been here four. I wanted to sell the place, but no one’s interested.”

  Mrs. Thornbrock’s eyebrows lifted. “Sweetie, even if you had real estate agents beating down your door to represent this place, it would take you longer than six weeks to sell a piece of commercial property.”

  Rosalie felt her body getting pulled into the ground, as though the desert were trying to swallow her whole.

  Mrs. Thornbrock gave Rosalie a sympathetic pout. “Don’t worry. All things are temporary.”

  It was a petty, superficial consolation. As Rosalie thanked Mrs. Thornbrock for her time and walked her out, she felt her arms and legs grow heavy, her stomach churn, and something push up in her throat. When she shut the lobby door and slunk back to her desk, she let tears overtake her.

  She’d managed to delude herself into thinking she’d be able to wash her hands of the inn in a matter of weeks. Sitting behind the counter now, she couldn’t fool herself anymore. No one wanted to buy a mediocre hotel in a sad, depressed town like Ashhawk. The only way to get out now would be to pack up and go back to Philadelphia, pretending the hotel didn’t exist, abandoning it and leaving it to the mercy of the desert heat and the desperation of drug addicts, down-on-their-luck townspeople, troublesome teens, and vagrants. As angry as she was at Gran for saddling her with Hearth, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach the shame of leaving the hotel to crumble. What would she tell her parents? Tara? What would become of Susan and Alex and Shelley?

  Rosalie folded her arms on the desk and cried into them. She was stuck in Ashhawk with no hope of escaping. She’d have to manage the hotel until she was as weary and blind as Susan.

  The lobby door clanged open, and Rosalie jerked up, frantically wiping her face to hide any evidence of tears. She looked up to see Shelley untying her housekeeping apron.

  “You okay?” Shelley tilted her head so her blond ponytail fell over her shoulder.

  Rosalie sniffled, wiping under her ey
es again. “Yeah,” she forced out.

  Shelley paused from removing her apron. “You’re a terrible liar,” she said quietly, as though she was sad for Rosalie.

  Rosalie exhaled. “I know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Despite her defenses, Rosalie appreciated Shelley’s concern. “I won’t be able to go back to Philadelphia as soon as I was hoping.”

  Shelley pouted. “You miss your boyfriend, huh?”

  Rosalie didn’t respond, thinking how amusing she should find Shelley’s assumption she was crying over a man. But it wasn’t amusing. If anything, it made her feel even lonelier at the reminder that no one knew her in this strange place.

  “I liked my old job,” Rosalie mumbled. “And my apartment and having stuff to do besides sit behind this desk.”

  Shelley pouted. “I’m sorry, Rosalie,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Rosalie shook her head. A car pulled into the parking lot and honked.

  “Shoot…Bobby’s here,” Shelley said, wincing apologetically.

  “Go.” Rosalie swatted the air with her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  The door opened again. Rosalie looked up, expecting to finally meet Bobby, but instead, she saw Alex breezing inside, sweaty from an afternoon of painting the fence around the pool. When Alex saw Rosalie’s face, she slowed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, glancing cautiously between Shelley and Rosalie.

  Shelley didn’t look at Alex as she said, “Rosalie’s not going to be able to go back to Philadelphia.”

  “Dang,” Alex said, keeping her voice low as she rested her arms on the counter.

  Rosalie felt awkward, sitting in her chair while Alex and Shelley hovered over her.

  “I’m fine. Just disappointed,” she said, standing. She picked up her cup and walked around the counter to the water cooler, avoiding eye contact with Shelley and Alex.

  The car horn sounded again outside. “I gotta go, but hang in there,” Shelley said, picking her keys up off the counter. “Come by the diner tomorrow morning if you want.”

  “Okay,” Rosalie said, filling her cup.

  Shelley gave a few pitying looks at Rosalie before leaving, the door clanging behind her.

  Alex adjusted her posture so she was facing Rosalie, one elbow on the counter.

  “You really okay?”

  Rosalie shrugged, bringing her cup to her lips. She took a long drink, wishing the water would take away the hot feeling in her face and throat.

  When she lowered her glass, Alex remained quiet, waiting for Rosalie to speak.

  “I was hoping to keep my job, but it doesn’t look like that will happen. I’m stuck in Ashhawk.”

  Alex gave a slow nod. “Ashhawk isn’t the worst place in the world.”

  Rosalie tried to agree with her. “It’s not.”

  They stood quietly before Alex added, “It’s also not the best.”

  Relieved to know Alex didn’t harbor disproportionate affection for Ashhawk like Gran had, Rosalie agreed. “It’s not.”

  “Used to be nicer,” Alex said.

  “I know,” Rosalie said. “I used to come here as a kid.”

  The phone rang, and Rosalie answered it, trying not to sound annoyed.

  “Hearth Inn, this is Rosalie speaking.”

  “Good afternoon, this is George Tackett calling from Shaylin Development. I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to speak to the late Mrs. Campbell’s lawyer about the property I inquired about previously at 578 Cocheta Way.”

  “I haven’t,” Rosalie said, slumping and losing any air of professionalism. “I’m not aware she was the owner of any such property.”

  George tried to respond, but Rosalie was already setting the receiver down in its cradle, annoyed.

  Alex stared at Rosalie for a quiet moment before saying, “Hey, want to come out to the bar tonight with me and my friends?”

  Rosalie sighed, hand still on the phone as her grip tightened in frustration. Even if the bars in Ashhawk weren’t particularly nice, she wanted to be anywhere but the lobby of Hearth.

  “I wish I could.” She sighed. “Shelley’s busy tonight.”

  Alex pulled a face of regret and pushed back from the counter. “If you can get Susan to cover, you’re welcome to join us at the Peso.”

  Rosalie paused. She’d never considered Susan might be able to cover the front desk. “Does Susan work the front desk?”

  Alex gave a shrug. “Who do you think handled it last month until you got here?”

  Rosalie contemplated before deciding it was worth a try. She was desperate to leave the property. “Let me give her a call,” she said, lifting the phone.

  Alex smiled and pushed back from the counter. “Come by if you can. If not, we’ll probably be there tomorrow night, too.”

  Rosalie nodded, waving goodbye as Alex walked backward toward the door and left. She left a message for Susan but wasn’t hopeful about hearing back from her.

  Rosalie needed to talk to someone who knew her. She was hesitant to call Tara to ask for support but was too tired and distraught to think too hard about it.

  “Hey,” Tara answered after a few rings. She sounded as though she were walking down a busy street or had just finished a workout. Rosalie felt even farther away from her than she had previously.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Just getting home,” Tara said. “What are you up to?” She sounded cheerful and active, which was discouraging to Rosalie, who was neither.

  “Sitting in the lobby,” Rosalie said, conveying her grimace verbally.

  “How’s Ass-hawk?”

  Rosalie had called Ashhawk “Ass-hawk” several times via text when she complained about the heat and the depressed state of the town. Tara’s participation in her joke made her smile.

  “Still boring,” Rosalie said. “Although I did have a little excitement a few days ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was stupid. I overheated and passed out, and Alex called the paramedics and it turned into this big unnecessary thing.”

  “Oh, my god, are you okay?” Tara asked, momentarily panicked.

  “I’m fine. I was dehydrated, plus the altitude and everything...”

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I’m fine. Alex said I fell gracefully.”

  “Who’s Alex?”

  The question surprised Rosalie. Alex was the closest thing to a friend Rosalie had in Ashhawk, yet she hadn’t mentioned her to Tara.

  Because of the tenuous state of things, Rosalie opted to keep Alex as vague as possible. “Just someone helping out with maintenance and stuff.”

  “Is he nice?”

  Rosalie knew she should correct Tara’s assumption Alex was a man but decided it was better left undisturbed.

  “Very,” she said.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Rosalie reiterated.

  This was how their phone conversations went—pleasant but not substantive, lacking in intimacy on Rosalie’s account. Their unspoken agreement was to avoid talking about anything unpleasant.

  There was a pause.

  “Everything else okay?” Tara asked, sounding concerned.

  “I guess.”

  Tara knew her well enough to know “I guess” meant “no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just don’t want to be here,” Rosalie mumbled. “I feel trapped. I got invited out for happy hour, but I can’t go because I don’t have anyone to work the desk tonight.”

  “That sucks.”

  There was a pause.

  “But it’s only for a little while, right?”

  Rosalie let out a heavy sigh, feeling as though the ground beneath the hotel was somehow doubling gravity’s effect on her. She knew on this matter, at least, she needed to be honest.

  “I met with a few real estate agents this week, and they all say it’s a tough sell. I even talked to a hotel
management company, and they didn’t want to take it on.”

  “Is it that much of a shithole?”

  Rosalie could picture her wrinkling her nose.

  “It needs a lot of work.”

  Tara hummed in response, and there was a heavy silence. “So I guess you’re not going to be coming back anytime soon.”

  Rosalie sighed again, wondering if her chair would hold her up as she grew heavier.

  “That sucks,” Tara said. Rosalie had the distinct feeling Tara was speaking into whatever room she was in rather than directly to Rosalie.

  “It really does,” Rosalie mumbled.

  “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Me too.”

  A part of her wanted to ask Tara to get on a plane and come keep her company for a few days and help her make decisions about which parts of the hotel to update first. But she knew such a request would only result in more tension. They weren’t ready for that kind of partnership.

  Rosalie knew that was her fault. She hadn’t been willing to be as close to Tara as Tara wanted. Now she could feel Tara giving up on her.

  Not wanting to subject herself to more discomfort, Rosalie constructed a lie. “A guest just walked in. I have to go.”

  “Okay,” Tara said. “Call me any time.”

  Rosalie hummed in response, and they hung up without saying more than a quick goodbye.

  Eager to forget their conversation, Rosalie heated up a frozen dinner in the back room while she tidied the front desk for the night. When her meal was ready, she locked the lobby and retrieved a can of cat food from her room before taking both meals out behind the hotel. She sat in the old chair she’d placed there, waiting for the cat, staring out at the desert before her, wondering if the desert would eventually suck the life from her like it did everything else in Ashhawk.

  Chapter Five

  Single Occupancy

  After spilling her sorrows to the cat the evening before, Rosalie decided to console herself by buying a new mattress. The one Gran had left in her room was the most wretched surface Rosalie had ever slept on. If she had to forgo the comforts of home, she could at least ensure she slept well. She could even list the mattress as a business expense since it would remain on the property if she was ever freed from her captivity in Ashhawk.